BLACK’S ‘VENGEANCE’ IS FAMILIAR YET ENTICING

When John Banville inaugurated his pseudonymous series of Benjamin Black books in 2007 with “Christine Falls,” this esteemed author seemed to have taken an iffy turn. The Banville name would be reserved for literary fiction (like “The Sea,” winner of the Man Booker Prize); Benjamin Black would swim in the supposedly shallower waters of the whodunit. The Black books were said to be much more casually and quickly written than the serious ones. Banville would have no trouble keeping his august reputation and his day job.

But things have not worked out exactly as planned. The Black books have been lovely and luminous, to the point of almost eclipsing Banville’s primary oeuvre. And the two careers have run closely parallel at times. Benjamin Black’s current “Vengeance” will be followed in only two months by the latest Banville work, “Ancient Light.”

To make his situation even more complicated, Banville has now, at the behest of the Raymond Chandler estate, signed on for a third persona: that of the guy who will reanimate Chandler’s Philip Marlowe, regardless of whether that “Big Sleep” author needs resuscitation. On the evidence of the alluring but not terribly surprising “Vengeance,” Banville risks stretching himself a bit thin.

To be sure, the Black books remain enticing, sultry pleasures. Their hero, the dour pathologist whose only known name is Quirke, sticks to his favored style, dark and gloomy: When a funeral occurs in “Vengeance,” it is noted that Quirke must be the only attendee who doesn’t need to dress differently for the occasion.

And when a wicked new woman appears at the heart of any of these books, she is apt to be ravishing, bored and cruel, all of which guarantee her a Quirke tryst.

“Vengeance” once again leads Quirke into his favorite kind of trouble: “yet another morass of human cupidity and deceit,” involving the deaths of powerful men and the foxy insolence of their glamorous widows. It breaks no new ground.

But why should Benjamin Black tamper with a winning formula? The crimes aren’t graphic or even terribly central. And the detecting questions don’t count for much. The books are far more notable for malaise, atmospherics, sexual chemistry and vast amounts of swirling tobacco smoke and mind-muddling alcohol, without which justice could apparently never prevail.